Entr'acte
by HC0
Summary: In which HCO takes a stab at writing that dear scene in the corn exchange. Again, a high T.


**Well, now I've gotten school over with, and soon I'll be off to camp for the rest of the summer. I shall anticipate a massive backlog of fanfic updates when I return. Writers, that means **_**you**_**. And forgive me if some of this is a bit trite--I've recently watched _Romeo and Juliet_.  
**

**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire.**

* * *

"You're not married, you don't know."

He says it lightly, teasingly; a typical response as far as he knows. But it hurts me more than I could ever have imagined.

Fiyero doesn't love his wife, I've managed to glean from the infrequent times he's talked of his family, but they do have a friendly relationship and he obviously _does_ love his children. Fiyero has a life back in the Vinkus, and he's _happy_.

And I'll never have that. I can usually fool myself into believing that I don't care, but there are times when I slip and this is one of those times. I'll never be loved or be able to love the way one can in a marriage. I am married only to myself; to this awful _loneliness_.

"I am married," I tell him, myself. "Just not to a man…"

He raises his eyebrows, and then the reality of my words crashes down on me and I lose control completely; my windpipe clenches and forces the water to my eyes. "Damn, _tears_!"—but I hardly notice the pain amidst the roiling emotions. "They burn like fire!" I can't look at him any longer; I jump up and grab an old blanket to wipe my eyes. It's useless. I sag against the counter, crying silently. I hate it when all the tears I've held back suddenly come rushing out like this, and that Fiyero is seeing this doesn't help any.

"Elphie," he exclaims, jumping up from his chair. "Elphie!"

Before I can move away he's put his arms around me, and before I can help it I'm looking up into his face. I try to move away, but my body won't listen to me. The blanket slips to the floor as I unwillingly return the embrace. "No," I gasp. I can't, he can't, we can't. "No, no, I'm not a harem, I'm not a woman." But I _am_ a woman, and I feel myself responding to him as a woman will. "I'm not a person, no…" I love him, why did I make myself forget that I love him, I love him….

Or maybe I'm not a person, maybe I'm those antlers again, holding him tight though he isn't fighting to escape, or maybe I am a woman opening my mouth to the kiss that shouldn't be happening, pinning him against the wall. He struggles, not to move away but to deepen the kiss, and we slide down to the floor.

"Elphaba…" A thousand sweet kisses on my forehead, down my cheekbone, into my neck and back up to my mouth. It feels so good…so right. But nothing in my life is ever right, and _that_ brings me back to reality, with my arms around Fiyero and holding his shirt in one hand (did _I_ pull it off? I can't remember, and half the clasps on my dress are open).

I move away from him and struggle upright. "Fiyero. Fiyero, we can't." I mean to sound forceful, but it comes out as a weak little moan. Out of the corner of my eye I see us in the glass Turtle Heart made, flushed and disheveled and eyes wild with—love—surprise—a yearning far too strong. "You're married; I'm too dangerous for you, I don't even exist—"

"If you don't exist then we're not doing anything wrong."

"Do you know, I've loved you for years." I'm speaking to myself just as much as to him. "One of the hardest parts of leaving was you. That's why I pushed you away when you found me. If it had been anyone else I might have stayed to talk."

"I followed you anyway. Because I love you. Maybe not as long but definitely as much."

"Yes, and look where we are now. It's wonderful and it's wrong, Fiyero, and that's why we're going to dress ourselves and part and never see each other again." I pick up his shirt and hand it to him. He doesn't take it, and says, "I thought you can't know what's right and what's wrong. You seem right."

"And that's the problem; you're right also—_we're _right and it's my work and your wife in the way and that's enough."

"Your work will be safe, and my wife won't know. And it was a completely arranged marriage; she's not much of a wife." He takes my chin in his hand and before I can pull away continues: "Because formal marriage can go to hell. _You're_ my wife."

I wrench out of his grasp and turn away. What _is_ it with Fiyero barging in on what was a seemingly perfect acceptance of unmarried life?

"And I know you feel the same way. I can see it, Elphaba."

"I do."

"Have you just married me?" I can _hear _him smiling.

I turn around to object—straight into his arms. He was waiting for me. He kisses my hair. "My love. My wife." And I don't even try to disengage. "Alright. Yes."

"You mean it?"

I nod. Nobody's here to see; even the cat is looking away. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't." I reach behind my back to undo the rest of the clasps; Fiyero reaches around me to help; the dress falls to the floor and in the time it takes me to step out of it, between Fiyero and I everything else we're wearing joins the heap of clothing lying forgotten. Bare, he's even lovelier than I'd imagined. I trace his blue diamonds with my lips, forehead to waist, and Fiyero follows the same path on my body, kissing a line of icy fire that shoots downward, splitting me apart and pulling me against his body like a scrap of metal is drawn to a magnet.

I hate to be overpowered, overshadowed; I always like to be the one making things happen. But now I'm content to be submissive and I let myself sag in Fiyero's arms as we sink into the blankets.

I'd hated that time at Shiz when he spoke about his marriage. I sang to get away from wishing I could marry him. But that didn't help, and I wished anyway. Wished so hard and vividly that I sometimes wondered whether I could still call myself a virgin, but now I know I was wrong. I couldn't have imagined the exact feel of his body, or his voice in my ear…No dreaming could ever compare to this.

It's my first time, but I feel no embarrassment or trepidation; I know exactly what to do. Perhaps we are born with an instinct for love? Who knows; who cares. This doesn't feel wrong anymore, not at all. This was planned, planned by Someone from the very beginning of time. Fiyero and I. This was meant to be.

Time seems to move out of context. There's no _then _or_ later_, there's only _now_. Only this moment, as long as he's mine. And now there's no _he_ or _I_, there's only _us, _rising and falling in some alternate reality that never has and never will contain anything more than us. My senses have fled, all but the sense of _feel_: of wonderful complete contact; the contrasting senses of arching away from the floor while at the same time melting away at Fiyero's touch.

But then time comes back, and touch diminishes and my other senses return and he lets go of me for a moment, and I gradually come back to myself and realize that I'm crying again.

Fiyero notices too, and his expression changes to concern. "Are you alright? I didn't hurt you?"

I brush the tears away and shake my head. After all, even I have the right to cry from pure happiness.

Especially on my wedding night.

THE END


End file.
